Ghost Man On Third
by BlackBlackHeaven
Summary: She grew up in the Korcari Wilds, and he lived in a Tower isolated and guarded by Templars. They are kind of the same, and yet completely different at all once. One-Shot Amell/Morrigan


**A/N: **So...it's been awhile since I've been in the Fanfiction world. But I figured I'd try it out again. What better way to do that then with Dragon Age? The game was bloody brillant, so I couldn't help but be inspired by it! I've beaten the game once so far, but I'm very close to beating it a second time. And this time around I decided to be a Human Male Mage, considering the first time I played I was a Female Rogue. So I wanted to play through it wielding awesomely cool powers and stuff...ahahaha.

Anyways, this is a Male Amell/Morrigan pairing. Mostly cause I rather like Morrigan, despite her disagreeing with me most of the damn time! Ahahaha, nonetheless. I hope it isn't too terrible, I'm a bit rusty and what not. And I haven't read many codex entries either. But I tried to stay as true as possible as I could to certain things. I hope it at least entertains you for a little bit.

There quite possibly are **_Spoilers_**. Well not quite possibly there _are_. So read at your own descretion. This is also _**Un-Betaed**_. So if there are mistakes my apologies! Anyways enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own anything here whatsoever. Not the song or lyrics used, not the game and its characters. I'm merely borrowing them for this short period of time. I promise everything will come back exactly the way it was! Not even a smudge!

* * *

_'This is why we were taught so much better then this. This is what living like this does.'  
_"Ghost Man On Third" by Taking Back Sunday_._

**I.  
**

There is blood everywhere, the smell hangs thick in the air. His breathing is harbored, and he's hurt, _dying_. So very close to death he can practically taste it on his lips. It's a bitter taste, very much like copper and ash.

There are only seconds now, ticking away on an invisible clock somewhere else.

_Amell_ – Grey Warden, Tower Mage, friend, brother in arms, _lover_. He's a lot of other things too, but none of those things seem to matter so much right now. He's almost near the end and it all feels so bittersweet really. He isn't so scared of dying either. It's a thought that surprises him, because after everything. He'd assumed he'd want to live.

His blue eyes silently find his target, meters away, and for a moment he pretends this is _just_ a nightmare.

He almost believes it too.

Then the Arch Demon moves and the thought vanishes. It's then he's sprinting, running towards the unknown with a sword in his hands.

There is a roar, his sword digging into the Arch Demon's dark flesh. Blood splatters, another loud roar erupts from the Dragon. Amell watches with weary eyes as the demon crumples to the ground with a thud.

_It's almost over_, his mind whispers and his heart breaks. With all he has left, the sword plunges into the Arch Demon for the very last time.

There is a white light, and then there is nothing but awed quiet.

His last thought, is of the Witch from the Wilds.

**II.**

Amell crosses his arms, and lets her walk away.

The Arch Demon looms on the horizon, and he has some foolish notion that he'll serve Ferelden and the Grey Wardens to his death.

_Yes_, he thinks silently to himself. _It truly _is_ a foolish notion indeed_. Because he just refused his last chance at surviving at all now. He let her run off too, and that makes his heart throb in his chest painfully.

He thinks all his other notions, ideas and random thoughts revolving around the witch were far more foolish. Dying for Ferelden would be a lot less painful too. Much better then dying from a broken heart or wasting years of his life in contemplation.

Much, _much_ easier.

As he lies down in his empty cold bed, he wonders briefly…

When did he become such a coward?

**III.**

He's a Tower Mage, and she's an Apostate.

They are kind of the same, but completely different all at once. She knows magic, he knows magic. It would seem like something like this would fit easily enough. But she's different, the witch, Morrigan is _different_.

It doesn't bother him as much as it seemly bothers everyone else he travels with. Alistair being at the top of the list. He doesn't think she can honestly help it, she is who she is. As is everyone else he knows, including himself.

She grew up in the Korcari Wilds, and he lived in a Tower isolated and guarded by Templars.

They are kind of the same, and yet completely different at all once.

She had some freedoms, and he had none.

So when he kisses her, in the middle of the road that leads to the Dead Trenches. In the depths of the earth, surrounded by a few Darkspawn corpses. He doesn't think anything could possibly feel so…_strange_.

It isn't the first time they've shared a kiss, or a bed for that matter.

But with time winding down as fast as it seems to be. He feels like things, _like this_, need to be made important. And they are to him, but he can never be sure they mean as much to her.

_She's an Apostate_.

His mind reminds him, he can't help it though. He's seen blood magic, abominations, and been in the fade. He's a mage, raised in a tower that seemly looks like it touches the sky. Has been watched, and in turn tried to be as watchful. The Templars don't scare him; it's what they _knew_ that scared him.

And even now, he feels like he tastes something akin to blood, death, and evil.

She isn't_ evil_ though, he knows this. It's just that she's _different_.

…And maybe that _does_ bother him.

**IV.**

Wynne doesn't approve.

He shouldn't be surprised, and apart of him really isn't. But another part of his brain, was thinking that maybe, just possibly she'd approve of this. It would have made him feel a bit better about it.

It's a stupid thing, _really_ it is.

That he wants her to approve, of this…_thing_ between him and the witch from the Wilds. Because why would a respected Senior Enchanter from the Circle of Magi approve of this? It wouldn't make any sense; Morrigan is an illegal mage at best, and even then…

He snorts, and rolls over.

It's a stupid thing, a really, _really_ stupid thing. _Tired, need rest_. He reminds himself, he shuts his eyes closed. But he can't seem to find peace in the quiet.

_It's stupid_…

_Stop thinking about it._

"Warden."

He pulls his eyes open at the voice. He sees her there, hovering over him almost. He merely stares at her. For a moment he thinks he should resist, because as Wynne had touched upon.

_This is not a union befitting a Grey Warden_.

But when Morrigan closes the distance between them in a matter of seconds. And her lips find his in the quiet of night. He finds that he doesn't so much care if it is or isn't.

It's stupid though, still even now when she gasps at his soft touch. Because, he's pretty sure he's starting to fall in love with her.

_It's so, terribly stupid_.

**V.**

Alistair does _not_ like this idea at all.

Amell thinks she'd be helpful, _perhaps_. It isn't that he completely agrees with Alistair, it's simply a cautionary reaction. Honestly, knowing what happened at Ostagar it would not be a terribly good idea to simply collect stragglers.

Though he _supposes_ the old witch of the Wilds _Flemeth_. As she seemly likes to call herself as. Does make several rather good points. Without the woman's daughter, it is only the two of them.

Amell is not a fool; he knows two men can't possibly survive _every_ single thing that is bound to come their way. They need all the help they can get, and he says so to Alistair. Because if the two of them are to defeat the Blight and save Ferelden, their bound to need help in any form they can get.

It's not going to be easy after all.

So they take the Apostate, with them and head for Lothering.

Alistair doesn't like Morrigan at all, Amell learns very soon. He supposes it isn't much of a surprise considering the circumstances. Amell keeps his eyes on Morrigan too throughout the trip. He quietly reminds himself it's simply because of Alistair's concerns regarding her. Not at all because she is rather…_beautiful_. That is if one finds witches raised out in the Wilds beautiful.

Amell mentally tells himself he _doesn't_.

But he keeps his eyes on her nonetheless. Briefly wondering what the coming days will bring them. He hopes that it will be something good.

What he doesn't know_ yet_, however.

Is that with everything good, comes something tragic.


End file.
